


I and Love and You

by royal_chandler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Established Relationship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, Star Wars Appreciation, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 16:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14876924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: Tony should really no longer be surprised by how right Steve gets it. Even though he’s not really meant to add anything to this discussion he’s overhearing, he’s left speechless. He’s entirely overwhelmed by how much he loves this man. He loves them both so much it hurts, makes his eyes water.





	I and Love and You

**Author's Note:**

> After having recently watched Spider-Man: Homecoming, I remembered a WIP that I had started after seeing it for the first time. I decided to finish that WIP.
> 
> Title came from The Avett Brothers.

It’s something Tony is still trying to get used to, these Saturday mornings—the hushed, sunlit, and alarm-smothered variety. There’s nowhere to be and nothing to do. The only thing Tony feels obligated to is the spell of their room, a quiet that he is in no hurry to disrupt and have vapor away, breathing deep and keeping still as he indulges in the pleasing sight of a sleeping Steve. What’s not hidden under the duvet is washed in pink and yellow hues, naked and tremendous. Tony’s fingers itch to touch, to travel the length of the arm that stretches between them and ends with knuckles loosely fisted beneath Tony’s pillow because no matter the distance the night makes, they don’t ever become untethered. 

Lazy minutes limp by and— all too soon, not soon enough—Steve wakes without even stirring. A few blinks and he’s alert, the serum and a soldier’s cognizance stymying the bleed of lethargy. 

“How’s it go?” Steve starts with a bit of his coy grin in his own downy pillow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Ha, joke’s on you,” Tony says softly, mirrors Steve with a smile of his own. “There are several shots being taken as we speak. JARVIS is actually your assigned agent, and not John Q. Hacker.” Needing to get a hand on him, Tony reaches out and finger-combs through Steve’s fantastic bedhead that’s been highlighted by summer. “Getting long.”

“Getting _hot_ ,” Steve says, moving in, slinging a leg between Tony’s and hiking it up just right. “Might cut it this weekend. Dunno.”

Tony hums appreciatively, tugging on the ends, playing them between the spaces of his fingers. “Kinda feel like I win either way,” he murmurs.

Steve skims his plank and dips down the slant of Tony’s pelvic bone with intent in his eyes, peeling back the duvet. “Speaking of winning, I did not last night,” Steve says meaningfully. 

Tony had made a semi-kinda promise the day before so fair enough. “Sorry about that. You were already passed out when I came to bed. Pete helped out in the shop, got to talking.”

Steve’s complexion turns serious and considering. “Yeah? How’d that go?”

“Not awful. Baby steps, you know? But it feels good not to have conversations with my son be wholly awkward anymore. And I think he might actually have real plans to be a normal teenager today,” Tony explains. Steve’s comforting kiss and fan of fingers at his jawline tells Tony he doesn’t really come through with the levity he was aiming for. 

Leaned in close and low-pitched, Steve is distracting. “And you?” He sweeps his nose against Tony’s, drags to Tony’s ear. His lips close around the lobe and makes the skin there hum. “You got any plans?”

“Not a one,” Tony replies in an arch, exposes his neck to a hot, open kiss as he rolls onto his back.

“Perfect,” Steve says before he’s latching his way from collarbone to navel with the sharpness of canines. He pushes everything between them aside on his venture down, makes an impatient grump when one of the sheets get caught behind Tony’s knee.

Tony opens his legs to accommodate him, happily welcomes the settling of sleep-warm skin against skin. He braces on his elbows, dampens his lips and reaches out to touch Steve’s chin for no reason beyond the fact that he’s very attached to it, to all of him. He bends to snatch a quick kiss. “You have something in mind?” 

“In mind?” Steve asks, curled lips over teeth and curled fingers around Tony’s cock. He gives a couple dry pulls, rounds off at the sensitive head that’s already leaking a mess that Tony honestly can’t even bother to be embarrassed about, before stroking back to base slick and easy. “No, not exactly. More in hand, I’d say. Was thinking of treating myself a little.”

“Menace,” Tony hisses and it feels like all at once he’s hard, like he’s sixteen rather than forty-mumble. Although when he was sixteen he’s pretty sure his chest never constricted this tight at the picture of relatively chaste kisses being pressed to the inside of his thigh. Tony doesn’t know how Steve manages to encapture such tenderness and affection while also cupping, rolling, and squeezing Tony’s balls in his large palm, how he manages the adoration in his gaze as he’s flattening his tongue and lapping up the underside of Tony’s cock but he does and he does it very well. And it’s no contest; it’ll always be those soft touches that truly undo Tony.

“Jesus, Steve,” he moans. It turns into more of a high whine when Steve lets Tony feed him his cock, lift his hips and make a few passes over Steve’s tongue. Tony watches precome drip waxlike, the color of pearl on a pretty pink. What’s collected on the tip of Steve’s tongue is curled back and swallowed. “Oh fuck, Steve. Sweetheart, how are you real? You’re not real. So gorgeous.”

His wondrous words evidently inspire a strong initiative in Steve, spur him to prove Tony wrong because Tony’s practically swallowed whole, most of his cock sucked into the hot and merciless vacuum that is Steve’s mouth. It’s a shock to his system and Tony’s fingers spasm at his side, have to dig into the mattress hard to keep steady and not lose how Steve’s hair falls into his eyes, the giving, giving stretch of those lips that turn nearly white in their ambition. Tony’s so close and coiled, he can taste it behind his teeth and on the roof of his mouth, coated on his tongue. He tags the back of Steve’s throat, feels it flutter around him and Tony can’t even get out a warning before he’s coming.

He’s lax and full of white noise, is drunk with orgasm when Steve mouths gently at him before pulling off. Steve advances an interlude of kisses up Tony’s ribs, flicks over nipples, and warm breath fanning the hollow of Tony’s throat. Brings a rash of gooseflesh over Tony’s skin. When his handsome face has crowded out the blur of the ceiling fan above their bed and crept into Tony’s vision, Steve works his jaw with a click, shifting it between his thumb and forefinger, obviously pleased with himself.

It’s more attractive than it really should be and Tony hauls him in. He fists Steve’s hair that he’s now thinking twice on and kisses him with an undiluted want, savoring the tang of his own sex. The thrusts of tongue and hips echo after each other, lacking in elegance, nips and love bites just short of bruising. Steve’s hand snakes between their bodies—aligning their cocks and jerking them both—and under his furious command, Tony’s blood ramps back and gets Tony so stiff it aches.

“You good?” Steve gasps out at the edge of too much, a lick of his own chasing the wet stripe Tony just dragged on his upper lip. His eyes are more lust-black than blue, dark next to the shining sweat at his temples. “I am, if you are. Ready to go.”

“Never been better,” he says hoarsely, raps his heel at Steve’s calf and lifts into the hardness against him. “C’mon, c’mon, come on. Need you in me yesterday.”

“Hey, I was game,” Steve reminds him, bussing under Tony’s chin. He dodges a swat by climbing out of Tony’s cage of limbs and rooting around in their bedside drawer. For a moment, he’s talking to himself, swearing he put it right back the last time they used it.

Tony groans, throwing an arm over his face. He uses his other hand to reach down and wrap punishingly tight around his erection, to stave off what will inevitably be combustion. “Dying here, babe.”

“That’s an exaggeration of events, Tony,” Steve says dryly, recovers the lube and dribbles it across his fingers. And because he’s Steve, there’s a lengthy, precursory of warming—slippery, dexterous, and poised to set Tony right off. And because he’s Steve and is no better than Tony with sex on the horizon, when he’s back, has removed the arm from Tony’s face, he’s everywhere and in. Sure fingers sink into Tony and stretch him open with twists that are familiar and strategic, deliberate strokes that ripple sparks throughout Tony and light up his spine when they rub across his prostate, tug on his rim. 

“God yes. There you go, uh god, that’s it, feels amazing. Love how you feel inside me,” Tony murmurs, fucking himself on Steve’s fingers and seeking more, greedy for it. In the hitch of his leg over Steve’s midsection, the lock of his ankles, and the bow of his back bringing them chest to chest, he says it wordlessly.

With eyes that catch and don’t abandon Tony’s gaze, Steve withdraws his fingers and Tony’s body, like always, takes Steve’s cock in like it’s just another part of itself. 

With smooth rolling hips and deep grinds, they get the rhythm right and fuck, it’s good. Dirty and darling encouragements stream out of Tony, cresting and breaking on his gasps and moans. One notably spectacular thrust drives a delighted laugh out of Tony, has him kissing Steve in appreciation and losing half of the laugh in Steve’s mouth. Tony’s hands frame his face and keeps him _right there_ to kiss him again, sweet and lingering and nuzzling. “You’re just—fuck, ‘d keep you here forever,” Tony tells him. Here in Tony’s arms, this bed, this life.

“You got no idea, Tony. Love you, love you. Can’t get enough of you. Perfect. You’re the best,” Steve says, a fog of humid heat over Tony’s lips, shuddering in both breath and hips. Tony pitches up and clenches down on Steve’s cock, is rewarded with Steve’s surprised grunt and a hard snap that would have Tony skidding to the headboard and beyond if not for Steve ordering him not to let go in a jagged exhale. The secure band Steve's arm makes around his waist holds Tony in place while Steve’s thrusts grow devastatingly forceful, angles sharp and perfect. The room begins to favor the more brazen and obscene sounds of their fevered fucking, the slap of sweat and skin drowning out their low guttural noises.

Tony hasn’t even got a decent grip on his cock before it’s knocked away. Steve takes over with a possessive clutch, jacking fast and rough and Tony couldn’t buck into it if he tried. Like he can’t get deep enough, like he wants to get lost in Tony and live under Tony’s skin, Steve keeps them plastered to each other and just _goes_. 

It’s a barrage on his senses, Steve’s hand _on_ him and Steve so affirming, huge, and unrelenting _in _him. Tony’s nearly folded in half and he doesn’t last for more than a few strokes under the new angle. Tony’s orgasm trucks through him and he comes with a howl just as Steve’s blunt thumbnail grazes the slit of his cock out of pattern. He flinches into aftershocks made up of bright and raw nerves, caught on the edge of wanting to get away and wanting to stay.__

____

____

When he’s able to open his eyes again—unaware he’d even shut them—he comes to find Steve whimpering into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

“Tony,” Steve lets out like he’s equal parts awed and wrecked.

Tony presses his lips on whatever salt skin he can reach to soothe. Steve's damp forehead, his nose, the tremble of his mouth. He says, “Come on, babe. Let yourself go for me. Fuck, want to feel it. Come for me. Please, come for me.”

Steve’s hips pick up pace again, hurried and dogged before they stutter and then still. Steve spills into him with a groan and words too soft for Tony to get completely. 

Tony runs a hand down his slick back, trails down and over Steve’s ass and up again. He rests his forehead at Steve’s temple, kisses his cheekbone and the slope to his shoulder which he then lightly bites into, gets a shiver. 

In retaliation Steve ducks down and raspberries into Tony’s armpit. 

Tony yelps and squirms out from under him. “The blatant disrespect for the afterglow. You are the biggest troublemaker I know and considering the company we keep, that is a substantial indictment.”

Steve’s laugh is sex-scratched, pant-drenched, and crinkles the corners of his eyes something beautiful. “Did _you_ just say that?”

Tony grumbles and flips him off. 

Steve laughs again. “Just did.”

Tony only cozies up to him to get out of the cooling wet spot.

Eventually their teasing wanes into a hush. There’s a scuffle of not quite kisses and smiles against mouths.

“I saw a flyer at the farmer’s market the other day,” Steve starts no louder than strictly necessary. “There’s gonna be a jazz concert in Central Park later tonight, thought it might be nice if you’re interested. Been a little while since we’ve had a proper date night. I looked up the band and they’re supposed to be amazing.”

Tony hums in contemplation. “Well, I did have a few half-baked ideas about cocooning in bed all day, Steve.”

“I hear ya. I do,” Steve voices, tripping his fingers over Tony’s shoulder, seemingly fascinated. “But we could have dinner at that Mediterranean grill that you love, take in some actual live music. Oh and that gelato stand should be up by now. Stracciatella, pistachio, marsala. Which one was your favorite again?”

“All of them and you know that. That list is enough of a turn-on that I’m considering a third round.” Tony nods because chances of him saying no were non-existent. “Okay, yeah let’s do it, I’m cultured. Not to mention sugar deprived.”

“You are getting a lot of mileage out of that.”

“Not putting the brakes on it anytime soon either.”

Steve lays a loitering type of kiss to Tony’s forehead. There’s a fond rolling of his eyes when he draws back because this a conversation he and Tony have had pretty much every day for the past few weeks. He gets out of bed and stretches, the lewd come stained on his stomach and the play of his muscles under flushed skin leaving Tony slack-jawed. With a smirk bent on his mouth, Steve asks, “Shower?”

Tony’s cock almost gives it the old college try at the thought of a wet Steve but two orgasms have been impossibly pulled out of him. Tony is fucked out, heavy and melted to where he is. The kind of sore that needs to soak. He waves a loose hand. “You go, I’ll just be here for a bit. Until I regain my knees and the ability to walk straight.”

“Good morning indeed,” Steve says, sounding as content as Tony feels. 

*

Tony’s ears perk up outside of the kitchen when he comes down, the conversation between Steve and Peter stopping him short.

“...gotta remember that as much as it’s about you being prepared, it’s also about your dad getting used to this,” Steve is in the middle of saying. “It’s asking a lot of him. Give him time, Peter, and he’ll come around.”

“I don’t—it’s just,” Relate to it as he may, the frustration in Peter’s voice claws at Tony. “I mean, you’re so cool about it and he’s treating me like I’m still a little kid. And it feels like. It’s like he hates that I have these powers. It’s almost like he hates—”

 _God._ How can Peter even—

“No.” Steve is immediate and resolute. “No. Never, Peter, never.”

“Then why? I don’t get it,” Peter says. He sounds so young.

“You _are_ his kid and you always will be. This hasn’t been easy for anyone but this isn’t something that he ever wanted for you or would have wished for you. And that’s because he loves you.” Tony recognizes the scrape of an island stool on the hard floor. “Hey, hey. Peter, we are incredibly proud of you for wanting to help others and that your instinct when you got these powers was to protect people. We love how good you are. We’re so proud of the person you’re becoming. That’s something we never want you to doubt. We respect you and what this means to you. It’s just not gonna happen overnight. We could use some understanding, too.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense,” Peter says with grudging acceptance. “I just want to be like you guys and it sucks seeing you both out there doing amazing things while I’m still using training wheels. I kind of feel like I’m going crazy. I want to do more and waiting is literally the worst.”

“Look at who you’re talking to. We could all stand to take a lesson in patience, honestly,” Steve admits with a light chuckle. “I know you don't like it but training helps us understand your abilities and hone them. We also have to know how you assess situations and how you problem solve. We have to know that we can trust you out there. Tony and I need you be safe. We won’t accept anything less and that means it’ll be tough. Your safety is our number one priority. You are our priority always, Peter.”

Tony should really no longer be surprised by how right Steve gets it. Even though he’s not really meant to add anything to this discussion he’s overhearing, he’s left speechless. He’s entirely overwhelmed by how much he loves this man. He loves them both so much it hurts, makes his eyes water.

Tony counts to one-hundred to save them all the embarrassment and for a cover of his eavesdropping, he also pedals back down the hall a few steps. He fakes a small commotion. Mostly, Peter and Steve look none the wiser, just regard him curiously when he strolls in. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks from where’s he propped against the counter with a mug in hand.

“Gravity is running rampant in these parts. Think I might have tripped over one of Peter’s,” Tony flails a hand out, gestures vaguely, “doohickies.”

Confusion on his brow, Peter mouths _doohickies?_ but stops paying it any mind once Tony pilfers two bites of the microwave pancakes that Peter loves from off his plate, wrestling his fork back. The joking smile on his face is everything to Tony. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me just stop you there, Dad.”

“Chocolate chips are so exciting though.” Tony moves to the fridge, gets out overnight oats, egg whites, and fake breakfast meat. He toes the door shut and starts setting things up on the counter at Steve’s side, preheats the toaster oven. “Not to mention you actually have real bacon.”

“Turkey bacon is real bacon,” Steve tries. He passes his mug to Tony before grabbing cinnamon out of a cabinet.

“No, it’s not,” Tony and Peter reply in unison. 

Tony raises his eyebrow to say _see?_ , sipping Steve’s coffee, and Steve shakes his head, sighs in his trademark exasperated fondness. 

“So, Peter,” Steve begins later when they’re all eating. “Your dad and I are going to a concert in the park later tonight, grabbing some ice-cream if you want to come with.”

Yes, Steve hails from departed days but Tony knows that adolescent life wasn’t that different in the forties. He knows Steve is aware teenagers don’t clamor to hang out with their parents on a Saturday night, knows he’s asking for Tony. Privately, he squeezes Steve’s knee, thanking him.

“Sorry, Cap. I can’t,” Peter replies, pausing in the demolishment of his second plate of food. His metabolism is off the charts now. “Ned’s got the Lego Death Star and he’s been wanting to build it forever. It’s probably going to take all day really.”

The envious expression on Steve’s face is hysterical because for all his being gung-ho over art appreciation and live music, he looks like he’d much rather be assembling thousands of miniature plastic blocks for hours on end. The man loves his Star Wars. 

“Any chance Steve can get an invite?” Tony asks, laughing. He turns to Steve. “Oh my gosh, I finally know what to get you for your birthday. You’d want the Millennium Falcon, right? No way you would actually construct a weapon for the evil Empire.”

Steve shoots him death glares but they’re belied by a blush in his cheeks and he doesn’t argue. Peter throws in Kylo Ren’s TIE fighter as a suggestion but really whatever Steve wants _is cool_. Then the both of them are making arrangements for a marathon, the originals and the sequels. They refuse to acknowledge the prequel trilogy. 

The moment exists in the details and it feels normal. 

Tony watches them talk animatedly, takes note of how they’re no longer paying attention to the muted TV in the background close captioning a Saturday morning cartoon Peter is a fan of and Steve pretends to allow during breakfast even though he’s clearly obsessed with it as well. Absentmindedly turning a strawberry to mush with the back of his spoon, Tony thinks on this nutrition thing that Steve has implemented due to Tony’s doctor showing concern over his blood pressure ranges. Tony thinks on how Steve also took up the lifestyle change in solidarity even though Tony bitches about it constantly. 

Eyes identical to his own are bright and brilliant, his mini chatterbox talking a mile a minute and Tony remembers the worst night of his life. He remembers uploading JARVIS to the Mark XLVI in his workshop at the tower and coming across an encryption in the lines of code by pure happenstance since the configuration is routine and hardly warrants that much of Tony’s attention. A thirty-seven minute long decryption had led to video. It was hours of Peter sneaking, _crawling_ , in and out of his bedroom in a suit of red and blue. Tony remembers getting sick into a wastebasket at the image of Peter weaving homemade stitches into his thigh. 

JARVIS had notified Steve of Tony’s distress and neither of them had slept that night, going through the videos on the server and footage—Peter catching cars, stopping bank robberies and muggings, and interceding multiple _fucking_ shootings—from YouTube. The next day had been awful. He and Steve had intended to be calm and collected but running on fumes and fear the situation rapidly devolved into anything but. 

Tony and Steve had ordered Peter to give it up and threatened to ground him indefinitely. There’d been a good amount of yelling, Tony could barely speak later, but it finished with Peter’s disquieting resolve, angry tears in his eyes that Tony will probably never be able to forget. Peter had flat out refused to stop because at the end of the day, for better or for worse, he’s truly their son. 

Tony looks around their kitchen and is grateful for the house he and Steve had bought together last year. Once Peter was out of school, it’d been Steve’s idea for the three of them to get away to their home outside of the city and mend what was their family fracturing. The silent treatment from Peter’s end awkwardly shifted into stilted conversation and then rules were set out. Tony’d upgraded Peter’s suit—repeatedly checked over every inch of it until it was burned in his memory—and after another sleepless night, he and Steve decided to let Peter train at the compound a few days out of the week. 

Steve is better about it, able to slip on the brave face after a nightmare he and Tony may as well be dream-sharing. He lets logic win out over his fear. Tony has a harder time disguising his worry and is taking the slow road to acceptance but his stomach no longer plunges when Peter falls dozens of feet before shooting off a web and pride blooms in him when Peter outsmarts a simulation—Tony's medical readouts are improving. And yes, Peter’s still anxious and stubborn but maybe the Steve-sounding voice in his head is right and some of that can be chalked up to hormones. That maybe Tony shouldn’t take it so personally because Peter is joking and smiling again and has more good days than bad.

They _are_ healing. 

Tony’s gaze falls over Steve and it’s the marrow in his bones, this knowledge that they’ll be alright in the end because he’s got the best partner in the business. Tony and Steve have had their fights, contentious middles where they diverged and took circuitous routes to only arrive back at the foundation of who they are and be reminded that they’re one and the same. They always will be. Very few things make more sense than Steve at his side.

The moment exists in details and it feels right. 

Tony interrupts whatever Steve’s saying to Peter. “Marry me.” 

Steve turns to him, his features pulling into a crease of confusion. “What?”

“Marry me,” Tony says simply because they’re going on four amazing years and why hasn’t he claimed this yet?

Peter’s fork tings on the island, drops alongside his jaw. “Holy shit.”

And Steve has to be stunned because he doesn’t even chide Peter for the expletive. His mouth form words that make no sound until after a couple tries. “Did—did you just propose?”

“Yeah, I think I did,” Tony says, breathlessly. Now that it’s out there, he’s experiencing a little delirium, can hear chaos in his ears. He shrugs, goes for causal even though his heart is slamming against his ribs. His hands are shaking. “We’ve got a good thing going here. I love you. You love me. We've got a kid to love. I think he loves us back. Why not do this thing?”

“And people have got the nerve to say romance is dead,” Peter quips but he’s looking on avidly. His stare ping-pongs between Steve and Tony. 

“Wait. Just. Let’s hold on here for a second,” Steve says, hands out like he’s signalling traffic. A grin starts and stops on his face, starts and stops, keeps checking itself with disbelief. Bafflement and wonder are writ large on his face. “Tony, you want to get married?”

“Steve, all I can think about right now is checking the internet to see if Peter is too young to be ordained because I want to say I do as soon as possible,” Tony tells him, half-serious. He is wholly serious when he adds on, “I want to marry you. I cannot anticipate a happier moment in my life than marrying you.”

“Dad, I am sitting right here,” Peter interjects with mock indignation. 

Cutting a glance to him, Tony expands with, “I’m obviously referring to post-you. I did say anticipate.”

“And what if I decide to give you grandchildren?” Peter tosses back because this wouldn’t be complete if smartassery didn’t find its way in.

"Ten gray hairs, Steve. I feel them." Tony knocks his head into Steve’s warm chest and listens to the rapid heartbeat there. It's reassuring. He breathes in the comforting scent of Steve’s aftershave, akin to cloves. Tony resurfaces. "I motion we don’t invite the kid,” he says.

“Motion denied. He’d make a great usher. He's very polite,” Steve replies with a full-blown smile and shining eyes. “Or maybe. Huh. We will need someone to park cars. And it’d be convenient to have someone for cheap.”

“Probably isn’t good parenting to just hand over keys to a teen without a license, though,” Tony says and he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. Settles at three because this warmth spreading in him is difficult to contain. Reminds him of the sunshine he woke up to. He can't possibly keep it to himself. “Depending on when we tie the knot, we could station him at the coat check.”

“Um, no. Not the coat closet.” Steve‘s eyes go a little shadowy and Tony wants him for the rest of his life. “I _like_ the coat closet.”

“Gross,” Peter comments. After a moment, he’s wearing a sour frown. “Oh ew. Seriously? That’s where you guys were during my national honors ceremony? Cap?”

“We stayed through your name being called?” Steve offers in apology with a sheepish wince. “It was a big induction class, Pete.”

“That is a horrible excuse and Dad is a terrible influence on you,” Peter says. He picks his fork up and spins its handle between his fingers. Lifting a brow and at a length, he asks, “So is this happening then?”

“Yes,” Steve tells Peter and it sounds like a promise. “Yes. Absolutely yes,” he says again to Tony and it sounds like he means forever. 

Peter nods, visibly good with that answer. Happy. “I mean, it’s seriously about time.”

Tony is inclined to agree because this, the three of them together, makes the most sense of all.

**fin**


End file.
